She would then hear his feet pounding up the steps and he would burst into whatever room she was sitting in and say, “There she is! My wife! Hiding her beauty from the world!” He would then run to her, grab her book or embroidery and unceremoniously toss them to the floor. Her aunt leaped unhappily to the thought of penitence. Looking for something, or someone, probably. ‘Wait! At least tell me where I can find you.
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